


Stumbling Through Cursed Lands

by ValidAsshole



Category: Naruto
Genre: Dubious Consent, Featuring: Tobirama the dumbass, Friends With Benefits, Hashirama the literal depressed tree, Izuna the surprisingly normal one, Madara the motherfucker, Multi, Other, Time Travel, and Mito, girls, its because i have a crush on touka, its mostly just chapter 4, my personal hc is that all senju are dumbasses except for touka, nonbinary Indra because I Can, some are bi disasters, they're gay disasters, well most of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-11-27 03:59:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18189482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValidAsshole/pseuds/ValidAsshole
Summary: Tobirama does not know how he got here.(He knows exactly how he got here.)But he will face the consequences nonetheless.(All those goddamn consequences rearing their ugly heads exactly when he's trying to ignore them.)At least he knows how to not break time.(Too bad he's never cared about breaking things that could theoretically be fixed.)





	1. a lackluster intro

_“God… what is god worth in a world of humans playing at infinity?”_

Tobirama is a genius. Tobirama has created countless jutsu and downed many foes to protect his clanmates. Tobirama is also just a little bit of a dumbass.

It may seem a little contrary, but really he’d admit this himself. Consequences are something he’s used to facing, after all there’s plenty of them for him to murk through when he acts first, thinks later. After all, acting a second too late could make it too late ( _too late_ ) to save a situation.

Dead because of a second. Dead despite a second. Dead like rock and steady like shaking hands.

So, Tobirama is used to consequences. He’s a firm believer in asking for forgiveness than for permission.

( _Anija always had been too easy on me._ )

None of this explains why he’s standing in front of himself.

God, he looks like a child.

( _God, he’s only 11 years old._ )

All of this explains why he’s standing in front of himself.

He knows he was a little rash killing Izuna.

He knows he was a lot rash treating Madara like a traitor even before they moved on from more extrinsic tasks like buildings to intrinsic ones like the rules and laws key to the welfare of the village, like his beloved paperwork.

( _He will never understand why everyone hates it. The repetitive, light work is soothing really. He always had been more at home in a desk than a battlefield to be considered true bloodthirsty shinobi though._ )

He knows he was downright a dumbass alienating his brother. Who had run and run and cried for a long lost friend when no one was looking.

( _They were a family of dumbasses with more than a little bit of trust issues. Even Butsuma in the end had died thinking his family poisoned him instead of accepting a very real illness._ )

He knows when Hashirama turns up dead that he has to take the role of Hokage, to keep his brothers dream alive, to make sure they don’t fall back to endless, tiring killing for vengeance and hatred and a daimyo’s gold.

( _He never does tell anyone it’s not Hashirama’s body, but a very real-looking replacement. Understands that his brother would never be content in his village that was supposed to be our village, would do anything to protect that dream, but was so, so tired. He could not begrudge his Anija time away and time to rest. He only hopes Madara will forgive them in the afterlife._ )

He’s the Second Hokage of Three. The middle child if you will. ( _He misses being the second child of four, it’s a small clarification but matters to his heart more than anything else ever will._ )

Now, he’s the Second Hokage of a world with no Hokage, with no Konohagakure, a  contradiction within itself. Someone who should not exist. He wonders if time and space will consume him and he’ll cease to exist.

( _And yet He is still here._ )

“What the Fuck.”

Ah, how he missed the eloquence of his younger years.

( _He doesn’t miss that his vocabulary is little better now- has turned into sounds instead of words, reminiscent of the Uchiha he now risks his life with-_ )


	2. A Fulfilling FollowUp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End of the Beginning. Or in other words, how he managed to get into this mess.

It ends like this - Tobirama is in his abandoned lab at the old Senju complex. He really shouldn’t be, really should be dead and buried 6 feet under. Those Kumo-Nin hadn’t meant to leave him alive, not really. They probably would’ve stolen his body if they could.

There are too many secrets hiding in his body, too many to count and too many to try and know.

It ends like this - Tobirama feels it when his students finally, _finally_ leave his sensory range.  He’s no longer needed as a distraction, but he’s been a kunai’s breath away from taking a mortal blow enough times to make Kagami and Hiruzen cry. Sad.

So, he’s bleeding too much to really get away, and he thinks about using Hiraishin to get away, but decides in the end it would just be a waste of energy. They’d only find him again.

He decides if he has a high chance of dying anyways, he might as well do something he hasn’t allowed himself to do before because of the risk. Or really because Hashirama stopped him, offered him his own summoning contract.

He’d refused. Hashirama had god damn sloths as his animals and they were less for frontline battle and more useful for diplomatic missions, and he’s never really been good at diplomacy.

It didn’t really feel right either - he’d drive himself crazy with a lazy summoning animal when he himself was always moving from one mission to another experiment to another training day. He liked staying busy.

 

If he stopped, he doesn’t think he could keep going.

 

He sucked in a harsh breath and made the hand signs, sees his opponents moving away to what they think will be a summon.

If he wasn’t almost dead and losing the battle, he might start laughing. When he finishes, he recovers from the disorientation quickly, has too much experience not too.

 

And he laughs and laughs and laughs when he realizes that he will die today.

He’s natural compatible summon is with the owls. It makes sense when he thinks of it, he’s always seeking knowledge, never sleeps, and likes passing down the wisdom he’s managed to scourge in his measly human existence.

He only wishes that his compatibility wasn’t with Izuna’s old summons. Summons do not forget such things, and the owls seem to always know things even when they weren’t there for it.

 

He used to entertain the thought that Izuna kept them updated, but they’re knowledge to obscure and too much for that to have been true, unless Izuna talked to them all the fucking time. But Izuna had only ever summoned them sparingly, and they always seemed disgruntled that he dared to do so.

Instead, he thinks they probably have some mind reading capabilities. Probably. It didn’t matter and he’d never know, because they are going to claw his brains out and he will die here without his body being desecrated by Kumo-nin or recovered by Konoha Anbu.

 

Maybe he should’ve just tried to get along with those sloths.

The thought made him shudder. He thinks he’d rather just take being clawed to death.

(Maybe it would absolve him of _his_ death. He only regretted that they couldn’t come to peace sooner and avoid the bloodshed.)

 

The silence is all encompassing. It’s loud in its nothingness and he looks up to the owls surrounding him. Watching. Waiting.

He’s tense and he’s waiting and watching them right back. Doesn’t try to fight the inevitable, the only way he’d get out is through their blessing and so he doesn’t give up per se, but he does not hold false hope.

Summons were as finicky as humans, and twice as impulsive.

 

He finds his eyes focusing on an owl, mostly white, but with unnatural green markings like swirls around its body- the one with the most, not chakra, but a weird energy hanging about it. He thinks that they’d look fairly pretty flying.

They don’t seem to be wanting to make a move, and he’s bleeding out just standing there. Wondering if they’ll finally attack once he moves, he huffs and sits down, getting his medical supplies out.

Entertaining the thought of maybe greeting them or making a smart comment, he starts bandaging his wounds, but ultimately leaves that decision for after he’s done taking care of his most grievous wounds.

 

The eyes on him follow, and he can’t relax, can barely focus on bandaging correctly. He manages anyways. Madara’s hatred, Hashirama’s exuberance, and the village’s adoring eyes makes him used to attention he’d rather not have.

It’s not harmless he knows, knows their sizing him up, testing him in some way.

He wonders if he’ll lose if he speaks the first word. Can’t really find it in himself to care.

 

So he stands, and he looks back towards that owl. He doesn’t move and he doesn’t try to speak.

Figures if they’re going to violate his mind anyways -

“What are you going to do?”

The unnatural twist of the owl’s face makes it look like a grin. He can’t help himself from frowning.

 

It ends like this - with another Hokage dead to the world and a nameless shinobi with a new contract. He really didn’t mean to follow in his brother’s footsteps. (Some things are just unavoidable). Rather be an adviser under the Hokage, than at the top himself.

He’s plopped right where he had left. With vaguely covered injuries. It seems the area has cleared off, but he can feel comrades heading towards the clearing. They’re still far away - too far- but the enemy had long cleared the area, so that was at least good.

It seems to have been a few hours from the sun in the sky.

He wonders if he should leave a body. A part of him thinks to do it, but he was not prepared for this, and maybe he should just go back. Konoha needed an experienced leader and Hiruzen was still very young.

He remembers the faces of the warring clan area looking at him with a mix of awe, fear, and hate. Knows he’s too prone to violence and prejudice and clan interests to lead the village like Hashirama before him. Knows, that even now amidst war, Konoha needs a leader- not gentle exactly, but brought up in peace.

He thinks that his time was over the second he named a successor, he never really fit the job anyways, other than filling the requirement of being terrifying on a battlefield. The only official requirement, but to truly succeed, one needed much more.

He hopes Hiruzen has the charisma and the Will to help find peace once more.

He does not leave a body. He does leave.

 

It ends like this - Tobirama is alone. He hides his chakra and goes to the one place no one will ever go back to. The place that is a reminder of times left behind, only kept unleveled because of how rocky the formation of the village had been, with no one knowing how long it will last and wanting somewhere to return if it all went to hell.

Tobirama is alone and little responsibilities compared to before.

Tobirama is alone and indulges in experiments he knows he should not try, but finds himself too desperate not to.

 

It happens like this - Tobirama finishes Edo Tensei, a jutsu he’d started when he was 11 and grieving. When he’d stopped after Butsuma discovered. Which he’d actually stopped when Hashirama cried and held him and told him playing with the Shinigami would end in his death - and Hashirama could not bear to lose him.

He sacrifices a life for a life, and tries to bring back Madara, not really a good idea on his part, he’ll be honest.

 

It happens like this - A creature with two yellow eyes watches from the shadows.

A  creature with black and white eyes and purple skin watches from the underworld.

A man with too much at risk watches Ashura’s brother try to raise Indra.

 

One to kill him, one to play, and one to dream.

 

It happens like this - He cries out in pain and falls to the floor, and as vines head his way, he disappears in a flash of yellow light. He does realize trying to raise the dead may catch the attention of the shinigami. He never does realize trying to bring back someone not dead would open himself up for a game.

* * *

“What the fuck”

He’d really rather not be in this situation. Facing down his child self while in his rockiest place mentally. He vaguely wonders if his contract with the owls is void now (he knows it is not.)

“Hn.” The glare he gets for that one should not be as satisfying as it is.  

A raised eyebrow and a few Kai’s later, they’re seated across one another in a silent glaring contest.

 

He almost groans. But that would be like giving up, so he doesn’t.

He’s glad that the jutsu didn’t pop him up in front of Madara or Touka, or heaven’s forbid - Butsuma. It makes sense that it dropped him in front of himself, if only because they’re in the clearing next to the lab.

He tries to ignore the fact that he’s hallucinating blood and gore from the future onto it. Where he killed someone for the chance at getting someone back - where he abandoned his village and got nothing but time travel for it.

He knows he should probably run and hide and try to figure out how to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Has a head start really, because even through the pain and disorientation at first, he’d held in most of his own chakra and combined with the silencing wards around the clearing, no one had felt him appear, except for well- the one who saw him appear.

He can’t find it in his heart to ignore himself looking so young. Wants to punch himself for his protesting heart.

He can minimize the damage, make it so the future doesn’t actually change. Maybe avoid creating a time loop or getting himself stuck in an alternate dimension.

But really, the only one who could successfully do that would have to be at least part god, or at least really, really inane about every little move they make. Too bad he’s the latter.

He should not be here. He should leave and become a hermit and never interact with his family or his enemies or the civilians. He could manage it.

He thinks about the Madara who betrayed the village and was killed by his best friend, thinks about Izuna who died so young, thinks about a Touka who was almost never smiling after Hashirama left, thinks about his father who hated and hated until it rot him inside out.

“Where do I begin.” he starts, ignores how little him perks up at being addressed, _finally_ , “so we become a hermit and accidentally time travel.”

“Accident?”

“Trying to raise the dead has the unexpected consequence of almost killing the user, as well as flinging them in time, probably not in most cases, but we’ve always had rotten luck.”

“You- you finished Tensei? Even after Hashirama- Is Hashirama?”

He almost snorts, “the idiot is somewhere in rain pretending to be a tree. Or will be.”

“You let him? He has duties as clan head.”

“And as leader of the village. It’s never stopped him before.” The gasp he gets from that is almost cute.

“I turn into a useless brother. A hermit, playing with time and probably given up the shinobi life for women and alcohol. Next thing you’ll be telling me your in love with a Uchiha and getting along with the sloths.”

“Really? You’re 11, I figured out the woman thing by now didn’t I?” He does not address the sloths, and pretends he doesn’t hear the love part - can’t bring himself to think about it - too many emotions and never enough mental power to process them.

“Twelve. Pshht, just making sure you’re not a fake. So I get lenient in my old age huh?”

His calculations were a little off, but really who could blame him. Eleven or Twelve didn't matter when he still looks so small.

“Less lenient, and more no longer willing to deal with melodramatic idiocy. That, and, god forbid, we have goals outside Anija now.”

“Hey! We’ve always had those!” a very pointed look and, “Ok, ok, FINE. But what’s more important.”

 

And he really thinks about answering. About talking about the village and peace, his students and his niece, about Madara and - he can’t. Not really, not now. When he knows Madara is at the other side of a river and ready to pick his family over peace - something Hashirama would never do.

When he knows that he and Izuna will fight and fight - and giving younger him any details about the war will lead to an early grave. Another child dead to a worthless war and stubborn elders and violent clan heads.

When he knows Hashirama is around the corner and still hopeful and alive. Butsuma closer. Mito in Whirlpool without a fox in her gut and the village’s hatred for it - with the fox’s hatred trying to eat her and control her and spread catastrophe to all it can reach.

He can’t. Not like this. Not without talking to people and changing things and making sure this damn war ends early, even if he has to force Butsuma and Tajima in a get along shirt, by _himself._

 

“You’ll find out once you manage to break 5’4.”

He thinks he would’ve managed to get an eye twitch out of that one, but instead they both turn in the same direction, and he knows that is Hashirama, heading in to get him out of his training binge, wonders how long its been this time.

He almost feels stuck in the past, like he’s his younger self trying to train hard to protect his family, even if it means being cruel and killing whoever crosses his path. Like he’s his younger self trying to get Hashirama to go away and think about something more realistic than a village of multiple clans. War is all he knows at this point.

He wonders if changing things will make that all he knows ever. He almost can’t find it in himself to care.

And yet, when Tobirama looks back at him, probably to tell him to hide or to henge, he finds the older him already gone.

Tobirama knows in his heart, meeting Anija now, he would not have it in him to do what he’s about to do, would get sucked into his brother’s pace, and would be stuck at the Senju house doing menial tasks.

It starts like this- Tobirama has no plan and multiple ideas. Knows what not to do, but can’t decide on what he will do.

 

It starts like this- Tobirama looks at his older brother and can’t find any words. He is dragged back to the main house to eat and to shower and to make sure he isn’t getting sick. It’s not rare for his words to get stuck and in turn, not be able to speak his mind.

Less so for his chakra to be so erratic and his face so open.

 

It starts like this- Tobirama leaves the Senju clan behind. And heads towards a river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only write fanfic when I'm procrastinating apparently. Thanks for reading! More to come ..... next time (someone will probably get punched in the face.)


	3. Just as Planned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing could go wrong if there was never a plan, right?

The water is cool on his frayed nerves, a balm he hadn’t realized he needed. Remembers with clarity seeing a meeting by the riverside, and seeing a side to his brother he’d never seen before, would rarely, if ever, see again. Madara  and Hashirama - they were connected in a way he can barely comprehend.

The smiles on their faces so true and so unhidden that it didn’t fit the time they were in at all. A part of him whispers to him they were born in the wrong time, in the wrong place, to the wrong families.

He pushes those thoughts away, but can’t help remember his hand being forced. Because Izuna had looked at him, had seen him on the other side, and maybe if they didn’t know the other was there, they could’ve stayed faithful to their brothers - even if they didn’t exactly agree with the ill-thought out secret meetings, both of them held their brothers’ happiness close to their hearts, a defining characteristic that had bridged the gap between them once before.

They don’t trust each other enough for this, never this. The risk to their brothers’ to great if one told and not the other, if neither told, yet one was caught in a lie. Too many possibilities, too many cruel endings.

They don’t trust each other enough for this, not because of their personality or their character - although, that too was rocky- but in their skills and their control over their paranoia. Izuna has never been a good liar, and Tobirama had never been good at staying in the moment, always looking to far ahead, or too soon back, seeing a bad situation that may play out again, and never willing to risk it.

He remembers a before, a simpler time. They weren’t stupid enough to outright plan secret meetings like naive Hashirama and foolish Madara, but instead their knowledge of the other comes in meetings on a mission, of acknowledgements, but no fights.

Of sitting in the same market on a break and surveying the other instead of running or attacking. Of finding the other injured and looking away, instead of taking advantage. Of whispered names, and whispered grievances. Of understanding of the other’s hatred of death and love of their brothers, of a knowledge the other is the Same in all the ways that truly mattered (their status as second brothers, as backup heirs of their clans - the need to protect and fight and _be better_ ).

Of whispered fights and cutting remarks and laughter, and in between a worry and exhaustion so steep that neither could find it in them to cut the other down. Not when no one had demanded it of them, yet.

Not like anyone knew they did this either.

 

It ended like this - a sword in the side and betrayed eyes that hated and worried and feared everything all the same.

It happened like this - two boys too tired to fight and too wary to change. The White Demon soon to be born, as a man(his _father_ ) made to make a weapon from a human and quite nearly succeeded. With no more simple indulgent missions that had breaks and minimized conflict, Tobirama was introduced to the truth of his world(blood, death, blood, little bodies, _blood - on his hands_ ).

It happened like this - two boys fighting for the honor of their clan on a river bank with fathers that were not fathers who used and attacked children as a strategy, would rather they both die than try to protect them, all for a chance at Victory. With two older brothers deciding who they would choose - family or the bond formed by their friendship. It was the first time they weren’t on the same page. No matter how hard Hashirama tried, you could not choose both without power, power he had yet to grasp.

It started like this - Red eyes met across a city, and walking towards instead of away, knowing that they were too similar and too different, tired of a war they hadn’t fought in and knowing while the other _understood_ , no one else really would. And that understanding fell away to almost nothing when they let it rot and tried to hide themselves so deep that it almost -

 

Once, they had an understanding about brothers and foolishness and naivety, about fathers and missing mothers, about wary clans and warier hearts, about love and want, about hate and need, about killing and avenging and living and surviving.

They drifted apart and away and did not look back. Understood the duty to their clan and their self imposed duty to their brothers, so when Izuna and Tobirama met eyes after drifting apart so thoroughly, maybe they shouldn’t be able to read each other so well. It didn’t surprise either of them when they could.

Tobirama saw the mistrust and the fragility of not knowing whether one can lie well enough to cover this up in Izuna’s eyes, and in turn Izuna saw the fear and the paranoia build in Tobirama’s.

They had locked like this for a few minutes, and understanding coming between them, one neither liked - but it wasn’t like their was any other way this could turn out- not without their fathers coming to investigate themselves(and wouldn’t that be a just disaster, without Izuna and Tobirama to temper their brothers’ idealism, the clans may lose two clan heirs).

 

Tobirama remembers, and drifts in the river, calmer than he’s been in months surrounded by his element, the familiar location a worthy risk for this rare clear headedness. He’s landed too late to change any of that, but maybe what comes after-.

He feels a chakra and almost groans. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Really, why Madara is wandering so close is a mystery, especially _here_. It’s not like each of them didn’t periodically visit the river, but they usually avoid the others using their skills as much as possible.

It was considered neutral territory for too long a time, and the Shinobi that gathered usually used it as a dumping place while avoiding other Shinobi they may come across. As long as they never spoke to one another, their would never be a problem.

Madara wouldn’t approach him like this, if he thought he were Tobirama. He probably thinks he’s found a dead body or something equally as disturbing. Foolish - Tobirama was barely bleeding through his bandages, not quite enough to be anywhere near dead.

 

Madara approaches, and Tobirama can’t find it in himself to move, to leave.

Madara stops approaching, and He’s not that bad of a ninja, must have realized that something was off. Tobirama has had so many bad ideas lately, and not enough rash decisions. Things always turn out worse when Tobirama tries to think things through and then continues with what seems like logic, so he doesn’t bother.

Logic never matters in a world like this, when staying calm should give you the advantage in the fight, but the opponent somehow gets stronger with their anger and love. When trying to follow the rules of an alliance or peace treaty will only turn up dead bodies in the middle of the night, instead of on the battlefield, and when relationships that should be meaningful turn out to be only physical, or when two people who could be friends, can’t be because of a family name. Arbitrary, this world is so arbitrary.

So, he doesn’t bother hiding the markings on his face, or his defining coloring - red and white. Doesn’t think about the face he’s making or what words he’ll say.

Looks at Madara - and that is too much deja vu for one day.

 

Madara with not quite short hair, but not the long mess that had become his staple, as opposed to Hashirama’s flowing river of hair. It was weird, and he looked every inch of awkward teen he was- and he was looking at Tobirama like he thinks he’s just gone crazy.

Well, that was one reaction, he guesses.

And then, he _opens his mouth_.

“I know you’re fond of the impossible, but really Tobirama, really? Couldn’t think of anything better than turning yourself into an older shitbag, you don’t even look that nice, 7/10. Guess you’ll always stay scrawny.”

 

He’d forgotten how much of an utter brat Madara was. _Izuna had to get it from somewhere, right?_

Doesn’t know whether he wants to kiss that face or fold and ask for forgiveness. The annoyance is definitely still there, but this Madara is young and while not exactly striving for peace, still hopeful, still burning bright. ( _Knows he’d snuffed that light out again and again and again_ ).

At his silence, Madara somehow manages to continue the unusually childish insults. He hadn’t always been like this, had he? Throws away that thought, he had not known Madara at this stage, other than passing glances. Would it be worth it to reveal Izuna’s eventual death?

“Hashirama must be throwing a fit, for his younger brother to survive til he’s older than him, or to invent a jutsu to look like it, at least. Will you please stop inventing things, it’s getting old.” and Madara doesn’t stop, keeps rambling on like he has all the time in the world, a fact he knows is false by approaching Uchiha signatures, “Do I fix that in the future? That stick up your ass, I’m sure I could add something much better and make you scream and relax for me, while carving out your organs and burning you up inside out! It would be fu-”

And he really needed none of that picture, not with a teenage Madara trying to dirty talk him while also threatening to kill him - god, if only he _knew_.

 

He wishes he didn’t remember Madara doing exactly that, but without the organ part, remembers Hashirama’s sighs as he healed the worst of their injuries. Madara’s eyes burning and burning with hatred and nostalgia for a dead brother and an emotion he couldn’t make out.

Knows that his mannerisms- his teasings and insults and energy picked up from Izuna confuses Madara. His presence a irritant, and he usually tries to stay away- but gets pulled in anyways. Knows its not healthy, with both of them missing Izuna, the glue holding them together and pulling them apart and tearing the skin and muscle from their bones, with the hatred and the guilt and the silence. Izuna's eyes, ever watching and ever staring.

And all at once, it’s too much, not with Izuna and Hikaku so close to retrieving Madara, with them not hesitating as sealed as his presence was. With the man he killed and the man who died for him so close. Can’t bear to face them, and knows Madara will not let him go easily, not when they are already talking, when he is already listening, something he knows younger him avoided doing when it came to Uchiha.

 

It hits a too taut string, and he can’t stop himself when Madara takes a step closer, and knows he’s too fast for the Madara now, even if he can read him with the Sharingan it’s not fast enough to stop him when his reflexes aren’t built up to what they will be.

Knows he’s giving Madara valuable information on his level of capabilities in the future, on what kind of speed is possible. (can’t care).

His hand meets Madara’s smug-turning-surprised face, and it really should not be satisfying on a boy who had yet to do anything but kill like all Shinobi did, and steal his brother’s happiness, and get him stuck on a dream the other gave him, but decided to be contrary and never fulfill. Who’s future self had not let Hashirama heal Izuna- he’d thought pride wouldn’t have stopped him from doing anything to save his little brother, even with Izuna's cursed last words( _it hadn’t sounded like Izuna- who had put those words there_ ).

Madara, who told his clan to be suspicious of a village that only wanted peace and working together for a will of fire, for the happiness of children. Who enslaved a fox and tried to kill, who broke his brother in a way that could not be fixed, who broke him and left him, and why had he ever thought something good would come of it, why had he laid out his heart and trusted - knows that he had already been broken at that point anyways, that their relationship had been a form of self-harm for both of them - that no worried family could stop them from indulging in.

It brought the end of Madara, then the end of the First Hokage, and eventually the Second. Brought the end of peace - knows no nation would have dared to even risk a skirmish with them had Hashirama been present and Madara there as someone to pull out the needed power his brother avoided otherwise.

 

“Listen now and listen well, I am not Tobirama, and I care not for petty games. I’m just here to let you know, the more you fight this war, the more you will lose. Izuna will die for this war and you will enable it, and peace will come and go without him. And you will be the one to go mad and destroy it. This is not a warning, it is a promise, if you don’t get your act together as clan head and lead, instead of following your father’s example and using.”

It was more than he’s said in a while, leaves him feeling raw and tired. Sees Izuna and Hikaku stopping and staring from the treeline, unwilling his eyes are drawn to Izuna’s who’s sharingan is activated, can’t find it in himself to look away - _it doesn’t matter_. Feels pain and sadness and want and regret so strong- and yet he can't break his gaze. Is surprised to realize he has no idea what’s going through Izuna’s head, even as Izuna cocks his head at him in understanding.

Even with Madara lying at their feet, unmoving with the sheer amount of chakra and killing intent Tobirama is using to keep him down, to make sure it is clear to him that he means every word he speaks.

 

He meets Izuna’s eyes and his head hurts and he feels something akin to the shinigami pulling at him, he should know and shouldn't know at the same time - confusing, confusing, too confusing. _So he’s changed something_. He expected it to do something, some indication, but nothing this painful. He clutches his head and sinks into the river, and even as he registers someone - Izuna, always Izuna- yelling his name and diving in after him.

He knows he’ll never reach him, not Izuna, not Madara, not Hashirama. Wonders if peace was an unachievable dream after all. Doesn’t matter that he’s changed things. People will keep dying and human sin will always get in the way - pain and understanding and pride and wrong decisions, always wrong.

Feels Izuna’s hands grasp him and then while trying to pull up, go through him. He’s pale and the ghost joke had been made many, many times by both enemy and foe, but why, why is it actually happening, he isn’t dead, hasn’t gotten injured, but the echoes of stab wounds _everywhere_ is too great and he’s falling and falling and disappearing, Izuna’s grasping fingers and desperate Sharingan eyes disappearing as he feels himself phase out, particles almost disintegrating, becoming _nothing_. Feels what can only be the River holding him together, even as something about everything registers as _wrong_.

 

So, time travel and changing things too much makes the unvierse kick him out, if it kills him in the process, well that’s the fault of the time traveler. He’s had his fun changing time, and now the universe is punishing him for it. Or maybe it's he's done enough in this time, and it is time to move on, back to the regular time and soul-stream. At least he got to see _him_ again. (He has a feeling it is the first option, but he's always had rotten luck - so it may as well be it's not time for him to rest yet).

Tobirama is going to disappear and never appear back to his brother - he thinks that is the worst. Will he go to the pure land? Will it even be his pure land, or will he be greeted by people who he doesn't know and does at the same time. Closes his eyes and even through the pain and the fear of death, feels a calm settle over him, the spirit of the Nakano has always calmed him, and he pulls it tighter around him for more protection, even as he shifts out of space and time and _disappears_.

 

He wakes up with two unfamiliar faces hovering over his soaking form, wondering why they feel so much like Madara and Hashirama.

 

He wakes up drenched like a cat and cursing the river and himself for deciding to play with time, and in the next moment realizes he doesn’t regret it for a second, even if time is an asshole, even if it was by accident, even if all the moves felt too calculated from a side that isn't him. Wonders if what he said will be enough for an early peace, for less death and less madness. (Somehow, he knows things aren’t that easy).

 

Looks up at two eager faces looking around his age, one’s hate and anger and madness and hunger for power, reminding him too much of Madara, with his chakra only confusing him more. And the other, the other feels like a wretched version of his brother, but one who understands people more than his brother did. A Madara doppelganger- he could handle, but he’d avoided young Hashirama for a reason, a happy Hashirama with his will still burning bright, it hurts, hurts too much, when he could and would never be able to be the reason for that light and could never be the one to rekindle it when it burned too, too low.

 

He flinches away from that bright smile- tries to get away, but he’s underestimated the effect of time on his body, even the small backing away movement has him crying out, curling in on himself.

 

What- what has he gotten himself into?


	4. Tobirama is fucked (*In Two Different Ways)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at that, indratobi managed to make it in, wait is that madatobi flashbacks what, and huh wait is that another uchiha?!!!?? 
> 
> In other words it's 9k words of some background, some layout for plot, and alot of smut. I only planned for like 4k words i'm dying. How did this happen??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tags and rating changed again, sorry mates, this thing writes itself.  
> I haven’t read the manga in a while so if some details are wrong, well, ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ . It is also very very self indulgent with like 3 sex scenes, soooooo yeah, have fun with that.(Me: who has never written porn before, deciding to just go for it)  
> DubCon at end after the line break.  
> Click away if under 18, thanks!

_The night is still, too still. There’s no wind blowing on his face or crickets singing to the moon. No shadows cast by trees that should-be but are not there. Everything is  wrong, and it’s not grass and dirt laying underneath him but something like darkness given form. Like stardust and cloud come together to make something imperceivable, yet tangible. Despite this, he keeps his eye to the stars. With the too still night comes the too calm human._

_He stares up at the stars, endless and so, so far. The moon is growing and growing, until it’s so big he can see the dust on it, it’s curvature. Should be scared, because it’s bigger than any meteor that had ever damaged the lands. Should be scared, but reaches out a hand._

_A laugh from a woman sounds out around him, and that’s when all the calmness rushed out of him, but it’s too late, because now it’s fear that grips him, it’s that voice that keeps him from moving. Laughing, laughing, even as everything changes - and it doesn’t make sense._

_He’s having a panic attack now, crouched in on himself. He’s back to forest and trees and home, but the moon is still shining and everything still feels so_ **_wrong_ ** _._

_There's rain pelting down on him and laughter still curling and echoing in his ear, and he can’t help but look up and feel that it’s crying, a mad laugh and a desperate cry. The rain its tears, and he feels himself cry along with it. His body is not his anymore and-_

_He can’t breathe, can’t control his body, can’t do anything but kneel and cry and stare up, up, up._

_It’s when another hand turn his head and there’s a shadowed face in front of him, crying too. Is he caught too?_

_The figure hugs him - and it’s too familiar - who is he, the only person who hugged him like this was Hashirama, so who was this man for it to be so familiar. He feels a name on the tip of his tongue and his head is aching, but then steady hands turn his face to look at the trees instead._

_And that’s when he notices the forest has surrounded them, with hundreds of eyes, and they should be uncomfortable, but aren’t. He tries to close his eyes to them around him, but his body is still not his, but it’s not Hers either, and maybe now it’s the figures._

_The owls in the tree look at him and see. They hear him and they listen. To his rambling breaths and turbulent thoughts, they do nothing but stare. It’s when he finally feels the pull ebb and then disconnect does a voice he should-know speaks._

_“Tobirama,” it says, like he is an old friend._

_“Do not Waver,” it says, like he is not shaking._

_“Wake Up,” it says, like this is only a dream._

 

_The ground he kneels upon is stained red._

* * *

 

He wakes up all at once. He’s laying on futon in a room with windows, which at least means he hasn’t been taken as prisoner. Still, it would do no good to stay in this room, already he is starting to feel antsy.

That dream didn’t make sense, but it felt like more. Felt like something he should pick apart and remember and know about, but it’s too confusing and already pieces of it are starting to leave him, so it can’t be important enough to keep. He thinks this, even as he tries to keep the pieces in his grasp, and when it does not work, he pushes it all to the back of his mind, figuring he might as well figure out where he is and his overall situation. He tries to get up, and immediately finds it might not be the best idea. Though, he has been partially healed, he is still suffering from chakra exhaustion and the effects from effectively drowning. If his enemy heard that he, Tobirama Senju, almost died by drowning in water. They’d laugh their fucking heads off.

He groans, but those two men hadn’t seemed like they recognized him, and while his surroundings seemed familiar, a lot of it was just- not quite right. Everything hurts, but he wants answers. Immediately. So, using the wall as a support and feeling pathetic, he makes his way out of the room, towards where all the signatures are gathered.

“-not dangerous, he could barely stand for god’s-” he hears a deep voice speak, and knowing their talking about him, forces himself to stand straight as he makes to open the door, “-and he was scared of Ashura of all people, the dope has the calmest chakra of any of us-”

Ashura, the name tingles at his memory, but for all he tries, he can’t place where he’s heard it before.

He pushes open the door before the speaker can finish his sentence, his calm mask in place, he won’t make the mistake of being surprised again. Feels the arguing and voices stop at his entrance. Well, they were being very obvious about who they were discussing. He would’ve been punished for such a mistake, but to each their own, he guesses.

Tobirama should be used to the stares, as a second brother and a clan heir, as a teacher and then as hokage, but it’s not something he ever really got used to. He can only hide his discomfort better, pretend it doesn’t bother. It had worked before. (not on Uchiha though, never on Uchiha who were so proud of their eyes and could tell when he made forced eye contact with an imperfect mask).

He stands and waits for someone to begin to speak, putting every ounce he can into keeping an air of indifference and strength about him. He looks to the middle of the room, where a man sits at the head, and he looks strange, with oddly coloured skin and horns and a third eye (with two rinnegan eyes and was that a red rinnegan? A very developed sharingan?). And with seeing the rinnegan, comes the realization.

He’s at the very beginning of time, and he’s decades upon decades into the past. His eye twitches.

Here, changing something could mean he wouldn't be born, that no one would.

(Here he could find out what started their feud, find out the reason behind the war and violence and too small bodies).

He doesn’t think he has the mental capacities to deal with this.

May as well just leave and be a hermit in the forest until someone decides to come for him. He turns away to do just that. Really couldn’t anyone get the guts to talk? In his focus and annoyance, he’s forgotten one little fact, and the dizziness he’d suppressed promptly hit him once more. But he was already moving, and it hurt hurt hurt, how many things has he changed just by being here, he thinks, for it to be so painful? And he knows he’s falling, almost manages to catch himself, but another pang in his already hurting head, and his legs twist together and he’s falling. People begin speaking again all at once, telling him to sit or asking who he his or-

Arms come around to steady him, and he lashes out immediately, no one has hugged him or touched him gently since Hashirama, and he misses his hugs dearly, even with how overbearing he could be. He avoided physical contact with his students, only going so far as a pat on the head.

(He does not think about warm hands scratching and biting and pulling him apart.)

A rush of adrenaline lets him come back to the moment, to defend from the hands catching him before they can decide to hurt him. In his mind, he can see that last fight he had, with chains and demon fox energy and endless jutsu, and remembers knowing he’d die if he didn’t do _something_. The fact he’d managed to do something means little in the face of his memories. He feels too, too antsy, and it’s been a long time since his last real fight- and shinobi never stay away from fights for long. So, he’ll later think his response is pretty reasonable.

He untwists his legs and sends one out to kick at him, only marginally surprised when his leg is caught, not many could match his speed, even if he’s handicapped by chakra exhaustion.

Even before his leg is caught, his hand moves to punch the intruder away. It is luck that has him clutching at his head instead of outright hurting the people who took him in and partially healed him- people apparently connected to the godforsaken Sage of Six Paths.

Those hands don’t move to restrain him- even if they should- and he has the weird notion that these people are not used to spies and killers and assassins at any moment. They simply continue with their early task, but with more - gentleness? He doesn’t understand and his emotions feel too out of whack, and this caring touch from a stranger who should be wary of him feels like a betrayal waiting to happen.

It doesn’t, he’s just moved to sit on the floor, and he knows he would be given his much needed space, if it didn’t look like he’d fall over without any support, so the warmth of the stranger stays with him. When the worst of the migraine passes, he can hear that they’re talking again, debating his fate again, but this time with a little more wariness, but also with a little more compassion, he knows the state he’s in is downright sorry. He hated himself for it, for wondering what Butsuma would think of his state, of what he’s done, what he’s doing

And with that, he can hear his breathing and it is too quick- is edging it’s way into hyperventilation. Thankfully the arms around him don’t try to soothe it away, he thinks he wouldn’t be able to deal with that, would go into full paranoia mode about manipulations and kidnapping and-

He tries to calm himself. Feels that Hashirama-like chakra still in the room and unconsciously latches on, lets his breathing even until he can think clearly and get embarrassed over outright attacking someone who had been defending him moments before. He looks up to apologize or thank him, but is stopped by mesmerizing purple-framed dark eyes staring at him with curiosity and a smidgen of worry, and curly brown face framing a face that is honestly not fair- with those pretty eyes and makeup and lips and his jawline- and he feels his brain shut down and his face heat up, knows that the tips of his ears have probably reddened.

_Oh no, he’s hot._

When the stare gets just a little more intense and the man moves a little bit closer with a smirk which he has no right pointing at anyone for fear of murder by hotness. He hears someone else laughing, and that is when he realizes he said that out loud.

And because nothing matters, he continues, “The Sage himself could strike me down right now and I’d stay standing if you’d only kindly fuck me.” He thinks it works pretty well as a pickup line, seeing that the Sage can hear him and might actually strike him down.

The laughing gets even louder if possible, and that pretty face raises an eyebrow, looking way too amused doing so, and god damn it, he’s usually the one raising his eyebrow, has all sense left him?

Oh wait, that explains it, but still can’t find himself caring much, because he thinks most of his sense left when he decided to try a reverse summoning anyways.

“I think it’d be better to introduce ourselves, wouldn’t it?” and his voice is like silk and so deep and Tobirama stands right about a 0 percent chance at resisting. Why would he need to when he hasn’t been harmed yet, when the hands did not stray even with his flirtations, when he’s so far into the past that would it really even matter what he changed, after all his presence here will already be a huge change, anything that comes after is just to be expected. What’s the harm in a little bit of fun?

He doesn’t usually go dumb at a pretty face, but he’s exhausted, and coming down from a panic attack, and being held in warm arms after so long without, and been near death so many times in a short period that it’s ridiculous, even for a shinobi, and he’s had so much emotional turmoil in the past month, that he thinks he deserves to be soothed by a pretty face.

“Tobirama,” he offers.

“Indra,” he returns.

It’s a start.

 

He quickly learns that these people are too, too nice. They tell him the rules, nothing too outrageous, and the punishments for breaking them, and then they give him a place to stay. Treat him as if he belongs there, and it’s not his village, but it’s pretty close. Ashura is a little bit of a dick, taken to teasing Indra with his presence, and can’t seem to look at them together without giggling a little bit.

Tobirama almost, almost, regrets the things he said in his weakened state, but can’t bring himself to, not when now that he’s there to stay for the time being, Indra has taken to flirting with him, and he has to try and keep up with him- really he thinks nothing will beat anything he said the first day, seeing as he’s a little too shy to go too far, while Indra seems to have no such concessions. It’s only been a few weeks, and he blushes and banters more than he ever has in his life.

Indra flirts with him almost constantly, and one day while they were watching the sunset after sparring, had told him an open secret he hadn’t managed to catch on to yet, unusual. Tells him that they’re not a boy, nor a girl, and if that complicates things too much, they’d back off. Indra looks, not scared- but vulnerable, as they say this. And he has to remind himself this is the past, even as he thinks about punching anyone with negative comments over gender of all things. Knows that his opinion is not often shared, and he should tread lightly, so he doesn't scare Indra off, so he doesn't come off as an asshole, even if he is one, in this- he wants to be kind.

“Thanks for telling me!" he says, because he knows how hard it can be, "Gender is a construct created to enforce child-rearing and belittle women. It thrives on humanity's need to sort everything into boxes and just because we like doing it, doesn't mean it's right, nor the only way,” he starts because he's had to listen to Touka rant about it enough to agree, because he remembers little cousins who cried because of elders, of enemies disrespected because of gender, and finds himself too, too angry.  
“It is foolish to stick to the traditionalist view, when I've been proven wrong before on the subject. That, and it does not hurt anybody for me to respect people, to respect you. And that fact does not change that I- I am weak for you.” That part, is a little harder to admit. They talk about it more as the sun sets and the moon hangs over the sky, until it is time for be, about how Indra feels and what it's like to not fit in either box, even though it is so easy for everyone else. About how their father does not care to understand and how they first cried when Ashura had referenced them with the correct pronouns, it had been the first time it all felt right.

The conversation seems to have made Indra’s flirting get _worse,_ if possible. He dies a little every time Indra leans over to whisper in his ear, from talking about menial tasks to whispering dirty things like how pretty he’d look being fucked into the futon. His patience is too close to snapping and he wants little more than to kiss the smirk off their face.

Holds himself back, because he knows that one night stands are less acceptable in the past, and because this is Indra’s ways of - Courting? him. The past is too confusing, too many different traditions, and though he's eager to talk to and learn from the Sage, to see the legendary rinnegan up close, the way the Sage looks at him like he is something on the underside of his boot, it grates him. He’s been avoiding the Sage the best he can, though the man-Hagoromo- does not seem too eager to talk to him either. He must know that he isn’t a simply a man who almost drowned in the river, must feel something wrong about him, because he is not supposed to be in this time.

 

The Sage allows him to stay anyways, and it’s been two months so he should be comfortable here by now, but tonight he can not sleep. And he finds himself moving to leave, to make tea or to get some fresh air, he does not know. He doesn’t have time to find out anyways, because the guard moves to stand in front of him. And he knew he was being watched, but really, coming out at the first sign of something out of the norm?

 _Amateurs_ , you find out what the person is doing first and whether it is worth it to reveal yourself or to just inform your superior about the behavior.

“What are you doing?” he asks, already sounding suspicious and ready to restrain him.

He thinks about how to answer without starting an argument or making him more suspicious.  
“I couldn’t sleep, and thought some fresh air would help.” he tries.

The man scoffs at the truth, and the little patience Tobirama has managed to hold all these years is thinning too fast.

“*Yawn* Really, Seiji, what’s the fuss in the middle of the night? Even you must know not everyone gets a full sleep every night.” they pause, and seem to make a decision, "You aren’t needed right now, dismissed.”  
Seiji seems like he wants to fight the dismissal for a moment, before he seems to think better of it, bowing and leaving, only lingering for a few seconds.

And now all of Indra’s attention is on him again, and they open the door while motioning him to follow.

“Well, are you coming? You don’t mean to tell me you really planned to murder everyone in their sleep to prevent a future catastrophe.” all of this in a deadpan voice, the only thing revealing it as a joke being the amusement dancing in their eyes.

Tobirama looks away, and gathers himself. Looks at Indra’s inviting and non-threatening body language, the laughter in their eyes, and not a hint of darkness in their chakra, and takes a step towards them. Can’t help but feel like a lured rabbit despite it all. When he gets close enough, they take his hand and kisses it, and really, what an absolute dork.

The blush spreads down to his neck despite this fact.

Indra turns to enter their room, and Tobirama follows.

He didn’t know what to expect, but wasn’t given a chance to see, as once the door clicked shut, Indra’s arm caged him in. Painted nails lift his face so he’s looking into Indra’s eyes and he gets lost in their depths, even as the hand holding his head moves to his lips, presses in. Feels the want build in his gut as he stands trapped, unable to move his head, as a thumb presses down on his tongue, and he feels out of his depth and so enraptured by Indra. He does not really want to know what kind of face he is making, because Indra’s face is predatory, and soon enough Indra pushes closer, so he well and truly is pinned to the door. Their mouth moves to his ear, and they lick it and playfully bite it.

Tobirama shudders.

“Is this alright?” Indra asks.

And he does not know how they expect him to answer with their fingers in his mouth, but he makes an attempt at a nod, and it seems to work, because they continue their ministrations. They remove the hand from his mouth to give him a kiss. The kiss stays chaste for a little, even as their hands wander underneath his clothes, as their erections are pressed together, and Tobirama tries his best to get some kind of friction.

When Indra’s tongue asks for entrance, Tobirama obliges happily. Indra lets him explore their mouth, and afterwards- their tongues press together and Indra slides their mouths together to change the angle and deepen the kiss, even as their teeth bite and nip at his bottom lip- their hands choose this moment to palm his erection and flick his nipple, and his concentration is lost, and they smile into the kiss.

It feels like their hands are _everywhere_ , even as they dominate his mouth, and all Tobirama can do is moan, and return the touches as best he can. He runs his hand down Indra’s side, feels a scar on their abdomen, and lets his hand explore Indra’s back. When they pull away, he can’t help the whimper that escapes, even as he freezes and feels as if he should run away to keep from embarrassing himself. Can’t even remember when they had lost their shirts. Decides not to when Indra seems pleased and turned on, and lets himself be led to the bed, even as Indra’s face stays buried in his neck, nipping and licking, running their tongue down his neck, and biting, and then soothing it with a kiss. He knows he'll have marks from this, but can't find himself minding.

He almost doesn’t know how he finds himself laying on his back, with Indra hovering over him, but he doesn't regret anything that led up to it. His breath stutters when they take both his wrists in hand and move them above his head.

“Could you keep them there for me, Tobirama?” and it’s phrased as a question, but he recognizes it for the challenge it is.

He turns his head to get away from the piercing eyes in protest, and when all that succeeds in doing is giving up more of his neck for Indra to mark, well he’s not really complaining. And their mouth finds a spot on the side of his neck that feels more sensitive than other areas, and they seem to pick up on it, and spend a moment giving all their attention to that spot.

“Indra, are you going to spend all day on my neck.” he tries, impatiently.

Indra lets out a dark chuckle.

“If that’s what you would like, I could kiss and tease you until you can’t stand it anymore.” and the idea should not hold that much appeal.

“Hm, really, I don’t, ah, think you have the self control for that.”

And he really shouldn’t have said that if he wanted to get fucked any time soon, but he’s never claimed to have the best self control (just a fair one). He gets lost in sensation as their mouth moves to his nipples and when he feels teeth on his sensitive nipples, he can’t help but groan and try not to arch up into their mouth, but they never really bite down, other than a light pressure. Nothing like what he’s had done to him in the past. And he notices other things now, too. Their hands are so gentle as they hold him to keep him from arching up into that mouth and hurting himself. The kiss had been possessive and Indra had dominated him, but it had stayed at that, had let him get lost in the sensations and of the feeling that Indra valued him, was taking care of him.

The other hand playing with his nipple rubs lightly enough to drive him crazy, and it’s so soft and so gentle, like he is precious, like he is fragile - and he can’t stand it, even as he cries out.

“I’m not fragile,” he manages to gasp out, in hopes that Indra will move into safer territory, something that doesn’t make him feel so vulnerable, like he’s shaking apart with only soft kisses and lingering touches to hold him together.

Indra seems to ignore him for a moment, and then addresses his worries.

“Has anyone touched you like this?” they ask, and in the next moment they flatten their tongue on his nipple and pull his pants down.

It takes a moment to find his words as everything is suddenly much too hot.

“What do you- mean by that? I’ve had sex with guys before if that’s what your asking.”

And Indra has the nerve to tut at him like a child, and he has only a moment to prepare himself when Indra’s hand moves lower, and there’s a hand rubbing circles at his entrance.

“What I mean, Tobirama, is whether anyone ever fucked you slowly until you couldn’t think a thought past pleasure, has ever taken care of you and made sure every part of you is touched and that all you are overwhelmed with is positive attention. What I’m asking, is whether anyone has made love to you?” and even as they say such words, they continue to tease him, a finger slipping inside and staying for only a moment, before leaving again, the bastard.

He feels the last of his breath leave him at those words, and does he really mean so much to Indra? He hasn’t even been here this long, so is it just bed talk? But it doesn’t feel like that, and the thought of his gentle touch overwhelms him, but it still sounds… good. Right now, he wants nothing more than to stop thinking.

And figures since they’ve already brought him to this point, he should, he should answer.

“No, no, not-not really, My previous,” a gasp, “partner and I mostly just fucked the living daylights out of each other, rather violently.” and maybe it’s bad form to talk about such a thing while doing this, but he’d asked and- they don’t seem upset.

“Ah, I see.” they say.

“Then, I’ll just have to kiss over all the marks he left and leave them so that all you can remember when you look at yourself and touch yourself is me, now won’t I?”

And that isn’t just words, it sounds more like a _promise_. He shivers.

Indra’s mouth starts kissing down his chest, at every little scar they can see, and they get down to his thighs, and there, it’s a mish mash of scars. He wants to tell them this isn’t needed, its ok. It’s then that he feels a oiled finger finally, finally enter him. His fingers are long, and even with just a finger he is almost content. As it searches and finds that spot inside him.

Having successfully distracted him, Indra continues mapping out his body.

When a second finger joins the second and starts scissoring, Tobirama’s hand moves to Indra’s hair without a second thought. All of Indra’s movement stops, and Tobirama whines at the loss of the movement, wonders why they’ve stopped. Meets their eyes and sees the adoration in those eyes, and it is all he can do to stop himself from rutting into that hand and begging for Indra to be inside him.

“Now, now Tobirama, what did I say about your hands.” Oh, _oh._

He bites his lips and removes his hand - and it’s one of the hardest things he’s done. Lifting it above his head and leaving him exposed to Indra, to Indra- without being able to reciprocate much more than making sounds and trying not to lose himself to the pleasure too soon.

“Good boy.” and Tobirama closes his eyes at that, tries to calm himself. He has a feeling they aren’t completely satisfied with that response, but suddenly the hands feel like they’re everywhere and he can’t complain, and he’s being kissed with such care that he almost cries.

And god, how long had it been? He tries to pay attention and when he can’t, he thinks maybe he’s shivering right now, maybe he’s turned into a puddle at the mercy of Indra.

“How are you feeling, Tobirama?” they ask, even as they continue rubbing at his prostate, as they pumps three fingers, now, in and out of his hole, stretches him out.

And he knows the tears of frustration in the corners of his eyes started to fall a little bit ago. And he knows maybe he’s supposed to say good, or bad if he needed them to stop, but all he wants right now is _more_. Can’t find himself returning the teases he had before, to calmly tell Indra that he’s good.

“Indra, please, I want you-” he tries to say more, but it was hard enough for just those words, through the haze around him. He’s not good at words on the best day, and less so during sex, that Indra managed to get that much out of him says a lot. He forces his eyes open to look at Indra, and he looks wrecked as well, with their pants loosely off and their hands covered in saliva and precum and his pretty, pretty eyes half-lidded. The sight alone is almost enough to send him over, but he holds their gaze. He’s rewarded when Indra speaks.

“Well, since you asked so very nicely.”

And they let their pants fall away to reveal their cock and line it up with his entrance, and they sink in ever so slowly, grips his hips lightly in a reminder to keep still. He feels himself whine and whimper and try to buck, try for more. It feels so, so good and he can't stop the noises he makes. They hush and soothe him, tell him he’d be full soon, to be patient lest he hurt himself. And he knows he could heal it easily even then, but the slowness of it all hits him right in his core. He feels more tears hit the pillow underneath him. Feels so full when Indra’s fully seated within him, feels himself start to squirm when the stillness gets to be too much, and he wants them to just move.

He gets what he wishes for, the pace isn’t too slow but it’s not fast either. It’s careful, and when they push into him, they push in deep, hits his prostate almost every time at the angle their in, ravishes him as he meets their thrusts.

“Ah, Indra.” he says, when he means - faster.

And they seem to understand, because they speed up ever so slightly, and kiss at his neck, even as they move their hand to his dick.

“You’ve been so good, so pretty for me, my Tobirama. Would you come for me too, I’d like to see you painted in white and red.” and their words aren’t as coherent as they could be, but they do all the right things to him, and he finds himself arching up even as he closes his eyes and cries out, almost blacks out for a moment.

Indra follows, and all but collapses on top of him. When he’s more coherent and can bring himself to take account of their situation, he finds that Indra is in the middle of cleaning them up, and takes a sip of water before offering him some. And, at this point, he really shouldn’t be shy, but he finds himself blushing anyways as he takes the water and thanks them.

Indra’s hand cups his face when he puts the water cup down, and kisses him, and there’s no sexual intent behind it, and it’s so nice, like they’re indulging in him.

“Ah, I apologize, you just looked so cute.” and he crosses arms, pouts, about to claim he is not cute, but before he can get the words out, they seem to guess what he’s about to say, and give him another kiss to quiet his protests. He feels himself melt into the kiss, and feels it as Indra rearranges them so they’re laying down, and pulls the blanket over them. He tucks himself under Indra’s chin, curls around them, lets his arm go around their side.

Feels Indra’s arms move to hold him, and it’s so nice, he finds that if he tried to fight sleep now, he’d probably lose.

“Indra,” his voice drawls sleepily.

“Hmm?”

“Love you.” he says, before he can convince himself not to, and the arms tighten around himself. And he is asleep before he can hear the answer.

  


He’s been invited to eat dinner with them at the main dinner table, after only eating in his room or from what he can cook himself. It’s probably going to be fancy and too polite, and he’s dreading it, but he can’t get out of it without being outright rude.

He’s seated next to Indra, with Ashura taking his seat across from them, while the Sage sits at the head of the table. He almost wonders if this will be a dinner or an interrogation, but stops himself because they’ve only been kind, and act akin to civilians, and he has to remind himself that they’re more powerful than he is constantly. Really, the children of the Sage, who would’ve thought? He doesn’t regret any of what he’s done a bit.

He wonders how pissed off the higher powers are at where exactly he’s inserting himself.

Into Indra’s bed again, hopefully. He almost smiles at the thought.

(somewhere far away, the shinigami sighs and downs a few shots.)

 

“How far into the future are you from,” the Sage asks, and the opposite of what he expects, and he finds himself stumbling trying to find his words. He almost wants Hashirama here to translate for him, but he wouldn’t bring him into this mess even if the world would end without him.

He is not alone here, he tries to remind himself. It works, for the most part.

“Too far for me to accurately guess. A couple of centuries, i'm guessing.” There’s no point in hiding it. And the Sage does not ask any more down that line of questioning.

Ashura does though, and says, “How did you get here? Did you use a jutsu to time travel? How long are you planning on staying?”

And he asks all of the questions that Tobirama does not have the answer for, and he feels himself almost visibly sulk at the fact to all of those questions are “I don’t know”, with little hope of rectifying it.

And of course Indra has to pipe up, “You have no idea, do you?”

“Not a clue.” he admits, and this time does sulk, knows he’s pouting, but doesn’t feel like putting his face back into a neutral face, those are for people he’s responsible for, who he can’t make himself burden. These people, these people, he knows, can handle it, and it’s not that they don’t matter, but that he knows he won’t be here forever, and the knowledge of his eventual disappearance lets him slip up more than usual.

Feels Indra’s hand meet his under the table, and looks up to see them sending him a fond smile. And he, he feels his mood change from hopeless to hopeful.

The dinner is relaxed, and nice, and peaceful. Nearing the end, he sees the frog summoning come out to grab some food. The frog eyes him warily, like he can see the shadows and death and mistakes that grip him, but the thought is depressing, so he ignores it.

Of course, someone by the name of Ashura decides to ruin it, right at the end of the meal.

“The way you acted while you were still disoriented and your scars - is there not peace in the future or?” and he’s implying so many things with that or, he can not know about Madara. And he can not know the war that raged and raged and paused and then continued on to ravage the people. War did not end, only found new victims, he knew. It’s a tactless question and it’s taking everything in him to only tense up and not run.

Finds himself sucked into memories despite himself and-

_He’s lying almost naked, spread out on the bed, with Madara standing in front of him, those angry eyes glaring at him, his mouth declaring his hatred, even as he moves closer._

_He’s forced down and the kiss is harsh and all teeth and lust. He can taste the metallic tang of blood where one of them must’ve split their lip, he thinks idly even as he’s completely undressed, a hand stroking him until he’s sufficiently hard._

_“You know, if you actually showed up to meetings, Hashirama would be less annoying about nagging you.” he says, because that is a perfectly reasonable thing to say in bed._

_Madara scoffs, and answers only with a bite at his neck, on his pulse point, he notes._

_He lets his hand find purchase in his hair and pulls hard enough to earn a groan from Madara._

“Tobirama.”

_He hears Madara open the lube bottle and spread some on his hole and his fingers. Feels fingers make to tease his hole, but he growls and bites at Madara’s ear, and the two fingers enter at once, and they mercilessly rub against his prostate once they find it, not giving him a chance to control his voice and reactions._

_He hates this man._

_Even as he decides he’s prepared Tobirama enough, and hands are gripping his hips tight enough to bruise as he fucks into him with an unforgiving pace, and continues to do so even after Tobirama finds his release - and it becomes uncomfortable._

“Tobirama.”

_He bears it, even as those red eyes look at him and he knows all Madara is seeing Izuna’s death. He wishes he could see Izuna in Madara, even as the stimulation makes him hard again, and when Madara finishes, he pulls out. He wonders if he’ll leave him like this again. When Madara smirks, he knows it can not be good, but then the fingers are back, and he feels his chakra massaging his prostate, and he loses his mind, what is going on, and it’s burning and it feels so good, feels like Madara is consuming him, and it’s painful and so, so much._

_He’s burning from inside out from the flare of Madara’s chakra, and all he can think of is the blood on his hands and his sword and red, red eyes._

He comes back to everyone but the Sage and his sons struggling under the weight of his chakra, and to Indra calling his name.

And that thing about running earlier? He doesn’t stop himself this time.

He may as well have ruined everything.

 

He finds himself by the river again. Kneels under a tree and curls in on himself and tries not to think of scared faces and how he hurt people who had only ever helped him. Tries not to think of a long ago past, of a grieving Madara, of a frustrated Hashirama, a worried Hiruzen, a naive Kagami, carefully doesn’t think of Izuna’s toothy grin and friendly snarl, does not think of himself, young and stupid and hopeful, thinking the world would bend to his and Hashirama’s will. That when they were all adults, they’d make rules and people would follow them, and no one would have to go through war again.

A child, like all others, that didn’t understand humans and temptation, of want for power, of anger and hurt and revenge, of greed and want and laziness.

He hates this. He wants it all to stop. Wants to go home. (He does not have a home. Not anymore, not in any time. He belongs nowhere and he feels more lost than he ever has.)

This is how Ashura finds him.   
“I came to apologize, father explained why my question could be sensitive,” he rambles on, “and don’t worry about the others, Indra and father are helping them recover, they’re the best at ninshu, so it should be fine! Not that you really hurt them again, just that the amount of chakra, especially how murderous it was, well I’m sure you’d understand how it can be suffocating.” he takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Tobirama, my question was insensitive, could you forgive me?”

And Tobirama pauses, lifts his head to look at Ashura’s face, something he rarely does, after all knowing a person’s face matters little with things like henge, so Tobirama preferred to identify people by their chakra. The fact that he just didn’t like looking at people’s faces and making eye contact mattered little, a bonus.

Ashura looks sincere, and he understands the logic behind the question and he wants to be angry, but the thing he is truly angry about is not being able to control himself, even if it was only for a small period of time.

Figures he can accept the apology with an answer. Looks up at the sky, so he can pretend he is alone.

“War is endless, and peace momentary at best and a pipe dream at worst. People make too many mistakes and are desperate and want to protect their loved ones, and when they can’t, it only leads to more violence. Not everyone is willing to follow the rules or to try to compromise, and it’s all anyone can do to try and save what is close to them, what they have left. When there’s nothing anymore-” his voice gets too choked up at this point, and he stops, keeps his eyes to the sky. Ashura is anything but dumb and would’ve gotten most of that. Wonders if he’d understand the implications behind losing everything- losing the will to live, to let the world take you where it may and to let yourself be manipulated and shaped into something else if only you don’t have to be anymore.

“I’m going to hug you.” and the warning is nice, because suddenly there are arms squeezing him to Ashura’s chest and he wishes he could call it a proper hug, but it is more like Ashura using him as a teddy bear (It is so familiar it aches).

He’s so enraptured in this, he never notices a figure cloaked in shadows and straws watching, waiting, calculating. Ashura takes his hand, and they make to start walking back. It’s then Indra appears from the field with harsh eyes, and somehow he knows, he really had ruined everything.

“Reiki’s had a miscarriage,” they say, and Tobirama feels sick. Indra is glaring at Ashura and avoiding his eyes, and Tobirama wants to fall into the earth and cease existence.

“Is she ok?” because he must, at the very least, know this.

“She’s recovering, but she’ll be bed bound for a while. Her husband is gone however, so I don’t know what her mental state will be if she manages to make it.” They say.

And, this, this confirms all along he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have dared to try. That he can’t be around people, not like this, because he makes too many mistakes, ruins what he touches, and he can’t breath and he backs himself into the river he came from.

He shouldn’t be here, and staying has cost a life. The blood on his hands seems ever present, and he can feel it dripping, can’t get it to stop even as he knows he’s hallucinating.

Indra’s eyes finally look up at him, and when they try reaching for him, approaching him, he takes his first step upon the river. He has to go, go anywhere but here, can’t stay not when he’s done such a thing. They don’t reach him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and lets himself sink.

Lets himself disappear. Does not try to wrap the river around himself. Lets himself sink to the bottom, and the fish run from him. He feels it as he loses his breath. Almost cries when nothing happens but him suffocating, would rather this than facing the world up there. Curls in on himself near the bottom of the river.

When Indra comes down for him and forces him up, he fights, just wants to stay until he can’t feel anything but the numbness and cold and water. When they ask if he’s done having his tantrum, he almost screams, but he stops fighting. When Indra holds him and gives him a towel and sets up a bath, he lets himself cry. When Reika wakes up and her eyes are dead, he shrinks in on himself. But he is not one to run away from what he has brought upon himself, only wanted to leave to prevent further changes (Is it even a change though, he does not know). So, he faces her, and bows, and begs for forgiveness. Says he already would be gone if he could be, and if she wished to take his life in turn, he would let her. Maybe he’d let Madara wear off on him more than he’d thought to say something like that, and feels naive because he knows a life can never really be replaced with another in the hearts of man.

When she seems to realize this herself, she gets angry at him and kicks him out, while telling him if he’s sorry to get a better handle on his flashbacks, he feels the boiling self-hate inside him settle. He hears her cry, and can only feel glad that she is recovering, no matter how small the progress.

He leaves, walks to the forest. Stands in front of the Nakano. Feels it when Indra and Ashura and the Sage and the Frog summon land behind him, as if expecting something of him. And he understands a little bit now, can feel the way time ebbs and flows around him, and knows he must leave now. It’s already been too long, he has already grossly overstayed. Knows that they can feel it too, as it's so harsh and turbulent, like it wasn't before.

Steps onto the river and does not let himself sink. Turns around to look at pained faces. He wants to tell them it’s ok, that he was never meant to be here. Wants to tell them he’ll be ok - but he’s never been one for promises he can’t keep.

Hears an owl hoot, even as the sun shines down, and he holds his arm out to let it land. Hears the waves as the river flows and ripples.

“Let’s go, Seiichi.” he says, even though a moment before, he hadn’t known it’s name. Feels like he’s being carved out for memory upon memory to burrow into his skin. Knows they are all already there, but aren’t all accessible, yet.

Wonders where he’d heard the names Indra and Ashura before coming here.

And the water is his element, is a part of him at this point, and with just a thought he feels the water rise and dance around him.

“Goodbye,” he says to his family, another family.

In between one moment, and the next, he is gone and the river is still.

 

The shadows laugh.

* * *

He finds himself back in the old Senju compounds, abandoned, so the village should already have been built and runs strong. He wonders how long ago, with the dust settling over everything and the still feeling in the air.

It looks half lived in with the comedic rush that had happened when everyone moved, wanting to be the first in their new land, not wanting to be open to attack on the road there, for anyone who would dare.

Didn’t want to hold it off and then not be able to make themselves leave.

It hurts, like everything leads back to this place.

He left it so long ago-

So why is he still stuck here?

He came back so long ago-

Like a ghost refusing to leave?

And was pushed away so fast-

Is he chained to this place?

 

Some of the dust has been unsettled recently, and he wonders if smugglers- but, no those are his marks.

Oh.

He’s come back to after he already lost and was just as good as dead.

How had he not connected those dots before?

He really doesn’t want to be back here, to this time. He’s finished his duty here, has nothing left here except dead bodies and wide-eyed students and a brother who will not come back for him.

In this, he is alone.

And, that explains why he hadn’t connected those dots.

Maybe, if he goes back to Nakano, it will let him leave early?

Or he could pretend to be a ghost to freak out some clan heads- they were really too annoying for their own good. (Not that That would actually work, Konoha’s Will was too strong to let their own become so unstable-)

 

It’s then he hears a voice murmuring, and it sounds like his. Of course! He could stop himself from trying out Edo Tensei, could keep himself from the troubles of time travel, could stop mistakes from occurring, from destabilizing time itself, and angering a few gods. Would stopping himself create a time loop, or would it stabilize everything?

(The rage of the Shinigami still grips him, and he wonders why he isn’t dead yet)

He can’t bring himself to do it, remembers Izuna’s eyes and Hikaku’s awkward smile, and a young, a happy Madara. Remembers the overwhelming bubbly feeling of Anija’s chakra before he ran away, not tinged with the sorrow it is now. Indra’s grin and harsh words, and hands that sought the power to protect.

He doesn’t move to interfere.

Tobirama is kind of curious to see how it’ll look like when he disappears. Will there be a flash of life, a portal, or would he fade out of existence like many times before. He doesn’t remember fading the first time, so the only way he can know is watching now.

And, there’s something different about this - the seals and the near dead body are the same, but the name in the middle is different.

And would he? For a first test, it was risky, to try to bring back someone so long dead. That’s why he’d tried Madara, safer territory.

And Izuna did not know about the treaty, about Konohagakure, about peace, and why would he bring back someone who wished for death?

(There is no one else he wants to bring back more.)

And then the jutsu is being completed and instead of his counterpart disappearing, Izuna starts forming around the sacrifice, dirt gathering to make up his familiar form.

What? Why would it work for Izuna and not Madara? Madara always had to be contrary, didn’t he. More testing needed.

He doesn’t expect it when Izuna’s sword stabs through his counterpart.

He doesn’t expect it when instead of dying - he disappears. Not the fading of before, but all at once. Like he’d never existed at all. He shivers.

 

“Come out now, Tobirama. If I couldn’t hear your surprise, your eyes on me would give you away.” and Izuna had no right to be flirtatious after he just-

He jumps down.

“What did you do?”

“Hmm, just what needed to be done. They have been crying your name and your story for centuries, you know.” Izuna says, not making any sense, “It was really annoying, so that was really cathartic actually.”

Tobirama sighs, Izuna never changes.

_A stab through the side._

It’s when he has let his guard down, forgotten that this Izuna had killed him with no remorse, that with this Izuna they were still at war (it sounded like he knew _more_ ).

He finds himself pinned to the ground, and wonders if Izuna will kill him. It would be cosmic retribution for him to be struck here of all places. A ghost wandering dusty halls until time restarts.

_Hands reaching and reaching for him as he disappears._

Looks into those eyes and finds that it would only be fair if he died by this man.

Izuna only hums, and keeps him pinned there. Flashes his sharingan, which almost immediately spin into mangekyou, and he closes his eyes.

“Now, now, none of that.” The hands gripping his face are familiar. The hands that brush underneath his eyes are familiar. “Look.”

The command in that voice is unmistakable.

His throat is dry and he doesn’t want to, can’t look into those eyes, doesn’t want to fight Izuna again, and knows he’d have to if he listened.

Feels that hand push just underneath his eye, and when he doesn’t move, keeps his eye stuck shut, he hears Izuna laugh.

He tries to squirm away, this isn’t a position he needed to be in, not with Izuna, not here, not now, not while Izuna feels murderous and unhinged, not when he feels like the world is breaking underneath and above him.

Feels the arm leave his face at his disobedience, and he is so focused on it, that it shouldn’t be a surprise when it sneaks underneath his shirt.

“Izuna-” he tries, but it doesn’t stop, nothing stops.

The hand reaches a nipple, and rubs, and despite himself, he leans into the rough touch, that feels too, too good. Ignores the sounds he’s failing at stifling.

“Izuna-” he tries again, more want in his voice than he wants to be there.

Feels a knee move to in between his thighs, press against him, and he cries out and pushes up into it.

“Ah, my Tobirama is so cute, I’d give you anything if you asked, if only you had any discipline.” He wants to protest that he is not Izuna’s, but looking back, that would be a lie, wouldn't it, when Izuna shapes most of who he is. And that hand gives no warning when it twists, and it’s painful and sudden and the mix with pleasure is overwhelming. Finds his eyes opening without his permission in his surprise.

Doesn’t feel it when Izuna casts his genjutsu. Once someone is of Izuna’s caliber and expertise with the powerful sharingan, it was impossible to tell when caught, even for someone like Tobirama.

Wonders if pain will come, and when it doesn’t, finds himself mesmerized by Izuna’s eyes. There’s sadness there, and fondness, and something a little like love, he thinks.

Something a little like hate, as well.

Feels like little more than a mouse caught in a trap, feels it as he relaxes and feels it as Izuna unpins him, and that clues him in, that he can no longer fight, wonders what Izuna will do to him, make him do. Will he be forced to fight his village?

Doesn’t fight when Izuna pulls him and snuggles him like a cat.

He blinks, “Why?”

This Izuna that does not make sense does not answer him, but there are whispers in his head and they give him a picture of what is happening, and they are not the only one’s here- and it doesn’t make sense, he can’t sense any sign of them, even in the small signatures of animals that should be avoiding something as unnatural as a space with no life, nor signature. Does not remember the roots that had gone to kill him on that first day.

This thing is dangerous.

Izuna hums in his ear.

And this makes a little more sense, Izuna needed a genjutsu to get this information in his head without tipping off their watcher, and he remembers all at once how cunning Izuna was-is, and how he was too good at improvised plans, and knows that he had been too panicked before. Izuna was- he could trust Izuna. (It feels like a lie even as he thinks it, remembering that forced calm and hands that won’t stop).

Wonders if his voice is really his, or if everything is an illusion.

Finds that maybe it was his voice, because just like that the genjutsu is dropped, and he feels his fear come back and his wariness come back and his grief at seeing Izuna again grips him stronger than ever before.

Feels that hand rub his back, and it is more calming than it has any right to be, after what he had just done. Feels the apology in his movement. And this, this is his Izuna, and he misses him so much, and he can’t find himself fighting again, loses the struggle to not, and this time he relaxes against him, grips his shirt as if one of them would die soon enough, knows it might as well be true. Hears broken off sobs and knows they’re his.

“Hush now,” he soothes, “Now that you’re calm, we have all the time in the world.”  
That thought shouldn’t be comforting, but it works, and his breathing slowly steadies. Knows there is danger around the corner, so forces himself together, knowing the jagged pieces will never fit quite right.

Finds himself looking into red-red eyes, and knows that they are tracking the monster now, he tries to focus enough to find it too, but it's so frustrating, because he can’t find nor feel anything, when usually he’d at least be able to feel eyes on him or space missing, no matter how good they are at hiding their chakra.

He finds himself wondering why Izuna is helping him, when he killed him, even as a voice whispers that they’re even now. Almost wonders why he helps him when he should think they’re at war, but feels that thought dismiss itself ( _It had never mattered much before, before it had been because of brothers and family, not war_ ).

And this is Izuna, Izuna who he knows to his core, who knows him just as well, and although the pieces are only starting to come together, he figures he’ll let himself trust Izuna again, at least about a dangerous presence. The dead have no reason to lie. Even as Izuna continues his ministrations

and they are on the edge of being something more.

 

Feels as a hand goes down and circles his stomach in a nonsensical pattern.

“Tobirama,” he says, the hand going further down, as he leans in closer to kiss his nose. His voice has turned into a deep rumble that has his blood rushing downward.

“I want,” palms at his erection, _finally_. He wonders if he should tell him to stop, can’t find it in himself to do anything but bite back a whine. Even as he knows something is there, even though Izuna has not relaxed an inch even as he forces Tobirama to, leans further down for a chaste kiss, too sweet for this, wants more even as he takes only what he’s being given and his mind tells him that it needs to stop. He feels his blush spread and his control leave him anyways.

“All,” The hand presses down, and the noise he makes is much like a keen, he pushes back as far as he can while keeping the chance that Izuna might not notice his desperation.

“Of your attention,” His hands are still gripping Izuna’s shirt, and he wants to touch too, but can’t bring himself to touch dirt and earth and feel the lack of warmth more than he already has. Instead, his hands move into Izuna’s hair and he tugs at it, even as Izuna plays with him. Even as he realizes that although Izuna seems to enjoy making him react like this, he has no blood flowing through him, no pleasure of his own.

“On me.” and the hand goes into his pants, strokes so slowly that it is hell and heaven combined. A Purgatory of pleasure. Feels a thumb slide over his head, spreading precum down his length and stroke ever so slowly.

“Please,” he finds himself begging without thinking about it.  
“Please what, darling,” and that nickname should not give him goosebumps or make him shiver in need, but that’s exactly what it does. Wonders what he should tell Izuna to do- to stop or to go on. It is not even a question at this point.

“Ah, please go fa-aster, please, Izuna.” And he doesn’t usually stutter, but finds himself gasping and making little noises in between words. When Izuna doesn’t answer, he almost resigns himself to a long and tedious handjob. But then, his other hand is moving and it lightly pinches and rubs his nonabused nipple as he speeds up, and he feels himself moan. After that it’s only a matter of time as Izuna twists his hands and pumps him.

“You look so pretty like that, darling, all flushed for me. come all over yourself now, To-bi-ra-ma.” and he has never been able to resist that voice.

He comes with a small cry, and melts against him, almost can’t find himself caring about the intruder.

The silence lasts for too long, as he comes done from his high.

When he feels Izuna relax, he gives a questioning hum, because he wants answers.

“He’s gone.” Izuna confirms.

“Why are you helping me, I killed you? And what of stories about me? Do the dead talk about me?” and the questions come spilling out before he can stop them and formulate them into something less… telling. Izuna’s eyes are laughing at him, and he wants to hide, scratch that, he does bundle his face into his chest as Izuna prepares to answer, but all he wants to focus on is the warmth of being bundled into his arms and being surrounded by his chakra.

 

It’s nice, he missed his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought i’d mention madatobi hatesex and then not write it? Who do you Think I Am.  
> Do you wanna know how physically painful it was to write that last line? I’m fucking screaming what the fuck. What the fuck. Holy Shit. Yep thats some real friendship right there, it was only so that they weren’t suspicious to zetsu, of course, a bRoJoB.  
> Somebody end my pain and misery. PLEASE. (more disaster gay things to come ;), this is barely the beginning)
> 
> Also, that edo-tensei shenanigans inspired by Blackberreh’s art on tumblr. (I didn’t do it justice bcuz my version isn’t angsty enough, but eh, close enough amiright), they're also to thank for getting me into indratobi lol, such a nice ship~


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